


When Opposites Attract

by Zelphi_Peverell



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Attempt at Humor, Bad Albus Dumbledore, Coffee Shops, Good riddance to the Dursley’s, Harry likes the Notebook, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Modern AU, Romance, Somehow the two work, Tom just likes non-fiction, Tom watches serial killer documentaries, and also harry, but he’s not actually one, coffee shop AU, harry is a hopeless romantic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 07:48:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29805234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zelphi_Peverell/pseuds/Zelphi_Peverell
Summary: In which Harry is a hopeless romantic, Tom is a strict non-fictionist, and no one is really sure how the two are still together.A compilation of some of my favorite tags and AU’s for Tomarry. :))
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 8
Kudos: 45





	1. Sometimes Walls aren’t Walls

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at fanfiction, and of course I had to give the honor to one of my favorite pairings. Although the writing may be inexperienced, I have been an avid reader of many great fics within the HP Universe, so I want to do the fandom justice!  
> ☆  
> I hope to update at least weekly, but life of a college student y’know? Well, I didn’t mean to keep you here for long, so let’s get on to the story. 
> 
> In this work, I have included (and will attempt to include) as many of my favorite tags among the tomarry works. Feel free to drop in the comments some of yours, and I may fit them into future chapters. (*^▽^*)  
> ...  
> Also, I’d love to hear what you amazing readers think because I’ve got to get my motivation to write somewhere! (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵)
> 
> With love,  
> Zel

For Harry Potter, happily ever after could be found in crisp white pages, faded ink, and the b-rate romance movies he rented out from the local DVD store ... but never reality. Now, Harry was by no means a pessimist. If you asked him, he just took on life with a healthy bit of skepticism. 

Twenty years old, a college dropout, and barely making ends meet as a small town barista would make anyone lose the rose tinted glasses of one who had everything and never tasted the bitterness of nothing. Almost forgot the whole I’m-the-boy-who-has-no-parents thing. Oh, now don’t get him wrong. Harry had a very active imagination, and there was no end to the romantic encounters he stumbled upon and sweet affairs he dabbled in; however, they never made it past the confines of his mind. 

While he could throw himself into the life of a secretary who found himself hopelessly entangled with his boss in the comfort of his favorite armchair, Harry knew, come five the next morning, he would drag himself out of bed to begin another monotonous day of serving overpriced coffee, plastering on a fake smile, and contemplating why he was still stuck in this godforsaken town. His envied fictional characters got their happy endings, but Harry was starting to think his would never come.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

It was with the persistent abuse of his blaring alarm that Harry begrudgingly rolled out of the comfort of his bed. Well, comfort was a generous word to describe the stiff mattress that always scratched him with every slight movement, but he could pretend. 

Midnight black tresses, tangled into a mockery of a bird’s nest, hung just below his shoulders, and a toned abdomen peaked out as he stretched out the discomfort of the night. Yawning his discontent, Harry dragged himself to the small bathroom to battle his hair into a ponytail and scrub away the remnants of sleep. 

For a moment, he stared at his reflection before letting out a small sigh. Nope. Not a thing had changed since the night before. Same old plain Harry who ... who was about to be late if he didn’t hurry up. Hastily throwing on his uniform slacks, a white button down, and his black converse, Harry grabbed his apron and beret from where he had thrown it onto the floor and shoved his phone in his pocket before rushing out the front door. 

Leaving the dingy apartment behind, he unlocked his bike, jumping on with the finesse of someone who had done the act too many times to count, and sped off down the quiet streets of Little Whinging. His muscles ached with the onslaught of sudden exercise, but Harry at least felt assured that by the time he reached the cafe, the tiredness he felt would be temporarily alleviated. 

Turning the final corner, tires screeching to a stop, he quickly locked it up to the bike rack out front and made his way into shop, bell tinkling behind him. Immediately, he was greeted by the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and baked pastries. The corner of his lips twitched up as he noticed a distinct head of red curls pop out from behind the register.

Despite the gloom and doom misfortune had brought upon him, Harry was grateful to have co-workers who he could count among his close friends. They made the grueling hours and even more tedious customers a little less noticeable, and he found himself smiling as he approached the counter.

“Barely made it didn’t you,” joked Ron, the red head who would be keeping him semi-sane during the morning rush. 

“You know me. Just trying to add a little spice to my day,” he jested back, and they both laughed at the lack of sincerity behind the statement.

“Best move on back there and get ready before the big oaf comes in to scold you,” Ron gestured to the door behind the register, patting Harry on the back as he passed by. “Let’s not give him a reason to dock your paycheck once again, yeah mate?”

Harry hummed his agreement before making his way into the break room to tie up his apron and fixate the beret on top of his black tresses. Vernon Dursley was the owner of the mid-sized cafe called Dursley Delights, and he was coincidentally Harry’s uncle. 

Despite the shop’s name, Vernon was most definitely not a delight, and he took pleasure in reducing Harry’s pay for the slightest inconvenience until he was left barely scraping by the minimum wage. One would think being blood related would give Harry the advantage, but instead it seemed to be the driving factor behind his mistreatment by the hands of his uncle’s family. 

Orphaned at the tender age of one, Harry was quite literally left at the Dursley doorstep by a disgruntled social worker who only wanted to go home for the night. The circumstances behind his parents’ deaths were never revealed to him, but Vernon and his wife Petunia never let him forget that they were a waste of space and so was he. Neither did their son Dudley, an enormous boy with the outer appearance of a whale and the inner one of a school yard bully.

It didn’t take long for Harry to realize that there was an obvious grudge between Petunia and her sister Lily, his mother. However, he never got to dwell on it long as he was forced to focus on surviving life in a house that hated him and paying back an ever increasing debt to his relatives. 

Now, did Harry recognize that the neglect and borderline abused forced upon him from an early again wasn’t right? Of course he did. He wasn’t that oblivious. But, he knew life wasn’t fair, and the hand he was dealt would be the hand he would have to make do with for the rest of his arduous existence. Like he kept telling himself, the fairytale endings he idealized and loved had no place in the life of plain Harry Potter.

On that note, Harry heard the telltale stomping of his uncle lumbering into the cafe as he made his way out onto the floor to begin setting up the tables for customers. 

“Boy,” Vernon shouted, spittle flying from his mouth. “Why isn’t this ready to open?” He jabbed a stunt finger in the direction of the still stacked tables. 

Harry took a minute to center himself so as not to let his temper explode. “I am about to prepare them right now.” But he couldn’t resist a small jab at his red-faced uncle. “As the owner, I thought you knew that we open at seven, and it’s only six-thirty.” He put on a saccharine smile, holding his hands behind his back as he stared innocently at Vernon as the man began to turn an even darker shade of red. How curious, Harry thought to himself. I didn’t know skin could be that color.

Nearly vibrating with anger, Vernon spat out, “You best watch your mouth boy ... and you can expect a pay deduction for this week.”

Harry’s smile dropped slightly as he sighed. There went his big mouth again, but he couldn’t help but smirk slightly at the inconvenience he’d caused for his uncle so early in the morning. After Vernon had checked in with the resident manager Hermione, because the man was hopeless when it came to anything related to management, he stormed out, glaring at Harry as he quietly set up the tables. 

“You couldn’t help yourself could you,” came a kind voice that carried itself across the room. Harry look up from his cleaning to see the owner of the voice leaning against the side of the counter. 

“Hermione dearest. How you wound me. I just couldn’t do you both the disservice of not seeing my lovely uncle add a new shade of red to the color spectrum,” he said gleefully, smiling as his two best friends shared a look of exasperation before breaking down into laughter. 

“Yes. Yes, Harry. You have done the unthinkable again,” said Hermione in a fond tone.

“Yeah mate,” chimed in Ron as he leaned over the counter beside Hermione. “Hope you enjoy the pay demotion.”

“Shut it will you?” Harry gestured as if to shoo away his red headed friend. “It was only a matter of when and where. When’s the last time you remember me getting a full check?” He said with a slight deprecating laugh.

“Never mate,” was Ron’s reply, but there was a noticeable frown on his face at the thought of his friend’s plight. They stood there in a state of awkward silence for a few minutes, contemplating why good people can be put in the most unfair situations.

“Well anyways boys. I’ve got to get to work! Money doesn’t make itself you know, and I might recommend unlocking the front door and flipping the sign seeing as there is less than a minute until we open,” said Hermione with a backward wave of her hand and breaking the silence as she disappeared back into the copious files and receipts. 

Readjusting his apron, Harry made his way to the front to open the flood gates, so to speak, for the hectic morning bustle of sleep deprived students and office workers in need of a caffeine boost. The first ding of the little door bell alerted him to the entrance of a customer, and he made his way behind the counter to begin fulfilling orders as Ron managed the register.

Soon, the day began to blend together as Harry became absorbed in the repetitive rhythm of prepare, bag, serve with the occasional reprieve of taking on register duty. For a usually hectic Monday, the drama was relatively mundane with only old Mrs. Figg raising a fuss about how her muffin was “too cold” after letting it sit uneaten on her table for hours. Thankfully, there was no more Dursley presence in the cafe, and before he knew it there was thirty minutes left until close. 

After some careful negotiation over who would do what, Ron delegated him the task of floor cleaning as long as Harry could work register for the first half of the next day’s shift. With newfound vigor and a bounce in his step, Harry spun around, intent on finally ending another exhausting day, only to smash into a brick wall. 

Putting his hands out to stabilize himself, he felt the smooth texture of silk, and upon further examination, the distinct outline of abs. Walls didn’t have abs, he thought to himself before the sudden realization hit. With trepidation in his eyes and heart beating an erratic rhythm in his chest, Harry cautiously took a step back and let his eyes slowly lift upward, mouth unattractively parted in shock, until they locked onto a critical hazel stare. Definitely not a wall.


	2. Meeting After Hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the last chapter ...
> 
> With trepidation in his eyes and heart beating an erratic rhythm in his chest, Harry cautiously took a step back and let his eyes slowly lift upward, mouth unattractively parted in shock, until they locked onto a critical icey blue stare. Definitely not a wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has taken the time to read this! You have no idea how happy I am to see all the support, so as a reward, I’ve went ahead an written chapter two. 
> 
> (And no. I am in no way neglecting my homework to write this. Absolutely no way.)  
> ^_^;
> 
> Anyways, here’s chapter two! I hope you enjoy my two boys’ antics. (*^ω^*)
> 
> With love,  
> Zel

Now Harry had seen his fair share of fine looking men. He was a virgin, not blind. Yet, the Greek Adonis in front of him was unlike anyone he’d seen before. Neatly coiffed chocolate tresses fell artfully over an aristocratic face that, as Harry’s eyes drifted downward, lead to a body that had most definitely seen the gym recently. This not wall could put the royalty he had only read about to shame, and oh. Harry’s hands were still resting on this man’s chest, and his face heated up in shame as he realized he was just unabashedly checking out a stranger. 

As if shocked, Harry jumped back, stammering out a hurried apology before making haste to the back room, his original task completely forgotten. Cheeks still burning and heart thudding in his chest, he threw himself into one of the scattered chairs in an attempt to calm himself down. He could still feel the burning stare of hazel eyes on his back as he made his hasty escape like prey from a predator. Who was that, Harry thought to himself. 

Because he had worked at his uncle’s cafe for years, he would like to say he knew anyone who was anyone in their small piece of England. He did not know this model-like stranger, which meant he was new. New was different. New was exciting. Harry didn’t do new. Harry might not have necessarily been happy, but he had a routine. He never had to worry about hopes or dreams because life had dealt him a hand that didn’t allow for that privilege. At least he could live vicariously through his romance novels and films, but that was the extent of “different” he could allow himself without resulting in too many unrealistic expectations. 

Heart rate somewhat under control, Harry built up the nerve to peak his head out the door. No customers and the sign flipped to closed meant he could breathe easily once again. Newcomers never stayed long in Little Whinging, so he assured himself that his embarrassing encounter would only be a one-time occurrence quickly forgotten. 

Grabbing a rag and spray bottle, he made his way to each of the tables, intent on finishing closing within the next half hour and getting back in time to watch the re-run of The Notebook. Harry could feel the smirk Ron was directing his way, but he adamantly ignored it in favor of making sure everything was in its rightful place so Vernon couldn’t yell at him the next day. 

“So,” started Ron, mirth coating his words, “run into anyone lately, Harry?”

Harry leveled a harsh glare in the red head’s direction. “Not. One. Word.”

Ron’s boisterous laugh filled the room, just as Hermione stepped out of her office, bag in hand ready to head out for the night. “What happened now?” she questioned, looking between the two as if they had finally gone off the deep end. 

“Well … Harry here decided to －” Ron was silenced by a cleaning rag thrown in his face. 

“What did I say Ron?” Harry forced a smile in Hermione’s direction, the fakeness of the grin making his cheeks ache. “It’s nothing Hermione. Just bumped into a customer is all. Nothing was spilled, I promise.” He gazed hopefully as her brown eyes squinted in distrust.

“You promise nothing happened?” Her skepticism was obvious in the tone of her voice.

“Yes, I －” Harry began, before Ron cut him off in revenge for the rag. 

“If feeling up a customer and undressing him with his eyes counts as nothing, then yes. Harry did nothing.” His shit-eating grin was snuffed out with a second rag in the face. 

“Harry …”

“It’s fine Hermione. I just tripped and happened to catch myself on him. And, I was NOT checking him out.” The last part was directed toward Ron, who was still grinning despite the dirt smudges on his face, but even Harry realized that it was only a halfhearted excuse at best. 

Hermione sighed, used to the antics her boyfriend and best friend always got into. “As long as we receive no complaints, it’s fine with me.” Harry knew what was coming when he noticed the smirk form on her face. “ Feel up all the men you want. Maybe you’ll eventually step onto first base.”  
Harry put his face into hands, a blush spreading from his cheeks to his neck. Now he had them both ganging up on him, all because of a stupidly handsome stranger with a stupidly well-defined chest. “Just go home both of you and enjoy your lovey dovey time. Hand me the keys, and I’ll lock up.”

Ushering Ron and Hermione out the door, he smiled as they waved their goodbyes before walking hand in hand toward the direction of Hermione’s car. He loved his friends deeply, but occasionally his heart panged knowing they had each other when they left while he was, and had always been, alone. Putting his forlorn thoughts aside, he made sure the lights were off and the door locked before making his way to his bike. 

He was used to locking up after the sun went down, and years of experience with riding in the dark, with many scraped knees and a few broken bones in between, meant he was very comfortable with riding alone at night. Leaning down to spin the code on the lock, Harry failed to notice the quiet approach of footsteps that settled to a stop behind him.

“Is it common for a simple cafe worker to be left all alone at this hour? One would think it might pose a safety risk.”

Harry had never been more startled in his life.

Falling backward onto the harsh concrete, he scrambled away from the voice, his mouth running before he could even comprehend its owner. “Oh my god. Do you have any common decency to not come up from behind someone like that?! I should have you charged with attempted murder, practically frightened me to death …” He trailed off as his brain finally caught up with his mouth, taking in just who he was talking to.

Smirking like the cat that got the cream stood none other than the reason behind his embarrassment a couple hours prior. Mouth gaping and at a loss for words, Harry stayed frozen on the ground, trying to process just what exactly was going on. It’s not like this stranger he had barely exchanged a few words with would wait for his shift to end. Just plain Harry Potter lived in reality, not his scripted fantasy romances. There’s absolutely no way －. His rant was cut off by a smooth baritone that drifted over him, making his heart suddenly beat faster for reasons unknown to him. 

“I do apologize for ... how did you phrase it? Attempting to murder you with my voice alone. Trust me dear. If I had wanted to murder you, you wouldn’t still be here.” The man said all this with a serene smile on his face.

Harry didn’t know what was more disturbing. That this Adonis had just casually mentioned murder or that he was attracted to a complete stranger who had waited for his shift to end before scaring him from behind. Speaking of the stranger, he had obviously noted Harry’s inability to comprehend anything that was happening and was slowly approaching the still petrified boy.   
Harry was once again startled when a large hand appeared in front of his face, breaking him out of the confusion that had clouded his thoughts. “Just what do you think you’re doing mister.”

“Tom.”

“What?” Harry asked, confusion in his voice.

“It’s my name. It would be delightful if you could call me Tom, and I was only offering my assistance in helping you get back on your feet. That is, unless you prefer the concrete? The smug tone irked Harry. 

“I think I can help myself thank you very much.” As an afterthought, he added “Tom.” That stupid smirk again.

He ignored the hand, and wow this Tom person had a very nice hand … no stop thinking about his looks Harry, and pushed himself off the ground. At least, he tried to. The fall he had taken must have scraped up his hands, going by the painful stinging, and his ankle was more than likely sprained. He was always quick to get injured, no thanks to the treatment imposed on him by his relatives. 

Groaning in pain, Harry made eye contact with Tom and gave him his best glare. Darn it. He must have lost his touch because the man didn’t seem the least bit phased. In fact, he seemed quite pleased, smug bastard. 

“Will you decline my offer now?” Tom stared down at him, exuding an air of someone who knew the answer to their question before asking it. 

After hesitating for a moment, Harry resigns himself to his fate. “Yes,” he mutters quietly.

“What was that my dear? I couldn’t quite hear you.”

Smug twat. 

“I said yes. Now help me up. It’s your fault I’m down here anyways.” Harry crossed his arms, careful to mind his injured hands, to emphasize his anger. Actually, he wasn’t truly angry, but Tom didn’t have to know that. 

Harry’s heart stopped when strong arms suddenly wrapped around his back and underneath his legs as he was lifted up into Tom’s arms in one fell swoop. He could feel the warmth radiating from the firm chest, and his face was close, too close, to his rescuer. The hands he had observed earlier rested firmly against him, preventing another spill onto the concrete. The breath of the man lightly ghosted over his cheek, and Harry could see the amusement, but also an undertone of something else, in those hazel eyes that were directed solely on him. His breath hitched as this stranger, this Tom, seemed to convey a hundred thoughts in a matter of seconds. 

“Now dear. Where shall we go next?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave some love below! I appreciate all of your advice, comments, constructive criticism, and suggestions. 
> 
> Also, The Notebook is a good movie and no one can tell me otherwise. ( ◠‿◠ )

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it this far, thank you so much! Feel free to drop a comment below, and I’m always open to suggestions and constructive criticism.  
> (*^▽^*)


End file.
